Harder To Breathe
by Flick-chan
Summary: Even the darkest of villains have desires - and unfortunately for Robin, Slade isn’t going to run the risk of letting him be the one who got away…[SladeRobin]


Author's Notes: Although the physical couple here is Robin/Starfire, it's actually a Slade/Robin fic. Please, if this sort of thing is not your cup of tea, don't read it. Thanks. Takes place shortly after the episode 'Masks'. Reviews/comments/questions are always welcome. A companion piece is in the works. Enjoy the story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans. In fact, judging by what my manipulative mind does to them, I doubt too many people would be happy if I did!

Dedication: This is for Diamond Dew - a piece of Slade/Robin from me to you.

"When it gets cold outside, and you've got nobody to love,

Do you understand what I mean when I say there's no way we're going to give up?"

-: 'Harder To Breathe', by 'Maroon 5'

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Harder To Breathe

By Flick-chan

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You wanted him; there was no point in denying it.

Soft hues of warm, cornflower light shimmered on the cold metal of your mask, and you shrank back into the shadows, terrified of being seen. If you were, the entire plan would be ruined. The entire fantasy upon which your empire was built.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing, if it meant that you got to touch him. Wrap your fingers in his hair, and press meaningless kisses into the back of his neck. Well, they would be meaningless to him - priceless to you. A symbol of your ownership, your dominance. And that was all you ever wanted, wasn't it?

You weren't sure.

Even now, as you forced yourself to peer forward again, your mind was clouded with doubt, the smallest parts of your brain tainted with uncertainty and hesitation. Did you really just want him for the power he would give you?

Of course you did. That was why you had been chasing him so long; because of his skill and cunning. His wit and charm. Mainly his charm.

There was something about the way he moved. Something graceful and delicate, yet as dangerous as you could ever hope to be. Perhaps more. His body was little, but lithe. Slim, but strong. You wanted to be a part of that. Be there when he blossomed, when his figure developed into something more masculine and useful.

That was why you wanted him. But, of course, you weren't the only one.

From your vantage point, just around the tip of the glass corner, you could see someone else that wanted him. Someone else who had already staked their claim. And he had accepted it.

But that only made you want him more. More desperately. More urgently. And that was good; it meant you would never give up the chase. Never lose the passion for him; that he was an apprentice worth having. Not that you hadn't known that from the beginning.

The way his delicious black locks were coated with sweat, and his body was covered in droplets of moist, slick perspiration. It only served to fuel your desire, and your need. The way he lay helpless, while she nimbly leaned forward to plant a clumsy kiss on his lips. That merely made you think of what you could do to him, of how valuable he could be to you.

Not, of course, for his beauty.

And he was beautiful; you knew that much. All too often in your dreams, you wondered what lay beneath that mask. What enchanting colour of eyes lured his victims into submission. Perhaps, it would be better if you didn't wonder. Wondering could drive a man mad with lust. With promise.

It was hard not to wonder. When you knew what he could do, and had watched him from afar for so long. When you knew exactly how much pressure he liked to put on his punching bags, and how much pepperoni he liked on his pizza. When you knew exactly what he wanted, even when he didn't.

You liked that feeling. It made you feel controlling again. Less of a shadow in his presence. Rather like the girl was doing now.

She was making him gasp and pant, sounds of defeat which you rarely heard emit from his mouth. He wasn't a quitter; that was why you liked him so much. But he was making you feel jealous.

Idiot boy. For all your schemes and plots, was he fool enough not to see that you wanted him? That he was your toy, and you were simply playing with him before moving in to take him? He was speculating on the future - and that made him more dangerous. More addictive. More appealing.

The girl. She was in your place. It was you who wanted him, so much more than she ever would.

You wanted him bucking under you; not only your rule and word, but under your body, begging for forgiveness and release. You wanted him to scream your name, in both regret for his mistakes, and in longing. You would take away his fire, strip him down to the bare bones of nothing. And he would deserve it, for putting you through all of this.

Patience. It was a virtue. You would hold out, draw back until the very last moment - when his will and drive to defy and fight against you had disappeared. You would be the victor; winner of this cat and mouse game that he was so reluctant, and yet so eager to be a part of.

No, you didn't like him. Far from it. Lord have mercy on your soul if you were ever to admit that you did. What you wanted from him _was_ power. And even in your hatred for the young man, there was a grudging respect.

You weren't sure what it stemmed from. Perhaps it was his skill, or even his splendour. But it didn't matter. What did matter was that the feeling was there, and before you could worm your way into his conscious, you had to tame it.

And judging by the way he looked right now, that was going to be rather difficult. More difficult than you had anticipated it to be; but you would do it. Eventually, you would have him in your grasp, under your thumb, and finger, and torso.

Whether or not that would be willingly, was another matter entirely.

End.


End file.
